The Originals
by Sarcasticles
Summary: AKA: They can't all suck, right? A dumping ground for my OCs, who may or may not feature in other stories. Those looking for canon characters or plot should go elsewhere. Chapter 3: What if Robin wasn't the only one to survive the Buster Call?
1. Lyudmila Kuznetsova

**AN** : As longtime readers may know, I have a great many plans for stories that I'm not sure I'll ever get to write. That doesn't stop me from imagining elaborate backstories for my OCs, or in a few cases even writing them out so I don't forget, even if that means putting aside other works that I've already started.

It would be a shame for these works to be ignored on my computer when I may never write a proper story for them, so I've decided to share. This is not a place for me to write out other people's OCs. I repeat, _I am_ _ **not**_ _taking requests_. However, should anyone see something they would like to use in one of their stories, by all means go for it. Just give credit where credit is due, and shoot me a PM so I can check out your work.

As this is a side project updates will be irregular, but I've got a few already written out, so who knows. Each chapter will have both an "origin story" and a biographical sketch of the character for double the fun.

Lastly, I owe this project to the positive response I received for _The Short and Lamentable Career of Joan Nightingale._ Chances are if you like this then you'll enjoy Joan's story as well, so go check it out and tell me what you think.

* * *

Lyudmila Kuznetsova was cold. Artic winter air seeped through the thin layers of her coat and chilled her bones. The seventeen year old girl stayed perfectly still, ignoring her quickly-numbing fingers and nose. She had been sitting since the first rays of light peeked over the frozen tundra, and today the sun was deceptively bright as it glittered like diamonds over the frozen ground.

A blanket of snow deadened the sounds of the forest, and if she listened hard enough she could almost hear the beating of her own heart. After hours of almost complete silence it began to race when she heard the underbrush rustle in the distance. Lyudmila made sure to keep each breath measured and controlled as a humongous bear with a shaggy brown coat stepped into the clearing. It made an unearthly noise that was equal parts growl and cry of pain, and it staggered forward with the gait of a drunken sailor.

Great bears were known to hibernate during the winter months, but there were reports from the village about a rabid beast killing off livestock. No one else was crazy enough to venture into the woods to test the veracity of the claims. Male specimens could reach a standing height of twenty feet, and they were only half as terrifying as a female who thought her cubs were being threatened. Their thick pelts could shrug off bullets with ease, their claws and teeth razor sharp. Great bears were equally parts respected and feared, and the thought of one running rabid was enough to strike terror into the hardest of men.

But Lyudmila was not a man, and she was cold. From her blind she raised her grandfather's crossbow and took careful aim, loosening the bolt as the bear reared up on its hind legs. Unlike the round lead bullets favored throughout the island, the arrowhead was originally designed to pierce through metal plate armor. The bear roared in pain and fury as the bolt struck its heart, pink foam frothing at its mouth. But it did not fall, for it was too sick to realize it should be dead already. Calmly, with efficiency only possible after repeating the same motion a thousand times, Lyudmila reloaded her weapon and fired again.

The beast dropped. Squinting against the harsh, icy landscape, Lyudmila stepped out of her blind, keeping well back in case it decided to try to rise again. She saw it make a last, shuddering breath before going still, finally free of the agony of its existence.

"Lucky you," she said as she approached. "Forgive me for not ending it in one shot."

With a sickening squelch she managed to pull one of her bolts free. Holding it up for examination, Lyudmila found that the tip had broken off, likely after hitting solid bone. It would have to be replaced.

"Should have gotten it the first time," she repeated grimly. Then she looked down at the dead bear. It was no good for eating, but the pelt would fetch a handsome price.

That was, of course, assuming she could move the thing back to the village.

~x~

Dark came early in winter, and by the time Lyudmila trudged home the first stars were starting to twinkle in the sky. She was tired, hungry, and most of all cold, but it had been a good day. Balancing a cord of wood on her shoulder, she pushed the door to the old farmstead open.

"Mama!" she called. "Mama, I'm home."

There was no answer, and the house was dark. The fire in the hearth was banked, and a quick peek confirmed that there was no food in the large cast-iron stewpot where the family did most of their cooking. Dismayed but not entirely surprised, Lyudmila started a fire. Soon there was a cheerful crackling noise, and Lyudmila stuck her hands as close to the flames as she could. She pretended not to see the frost creeping in on the corners of the house, nor the thick pelts that hung from the ceiling to keep the drafts away.

"Mila, you're back."

Startled, Lyudmila spun around to see her mother shuffle closer. "Mama! I thought you were in bed already. How are you feeling?"

Her mother coughed in response. The sound was wet and harsh and did not stop for a long time. Lyudmila searched the dilapidated kitchen until she found a dirty rag and brought it to her mother's lips as convulsions shook her thin shoulders.

"Spit it out, Mama," she said quietly. "Your body does not want it for a reason."

Yellow-green phlegm tinged with red quickly covered the center of the rag. The effort left her mother exhausted and short of breath, and Lyudmila guided her to an old wooden rocking chair and helped her sit. It was the only furniture left in the house, the rest sold off or chopped up for firewood long ago.

"My grandmother's chair," her mother gasped. "My gift from her on my wedding day."

"I know, Mama. Let me help you closer to the fire. Where is your medicine? I'll fetch it for you."

"No need for it now. The heat will heal these old bones," she said.

"It is your lungs that are sick," Lyudmila said, eyes narrowing. "Mama, tell me. Where is your medicine?"

Her mother pretended not to hear, preferring to gaze into the cherry-red glow of the fireplace. She had been a beautiful woman once, before misfortune and hardship aged her beyond her years. Once plump and merry, the skin on her thin face now sagged, leaving her with a perpetually melancholy expression. There was more grey than blonde left in her coarse, unwashed hair, and the faint smell of stale sweat clung to her worse than the fleas and lice.

"Where's father?" Lyudmila asked when her mother did not answer her. "What has he done? He was meant to be out looking for work today."

"You know better than anyone that there's no work to be had. Your father is ill—"

" _You're_ ill!" Lyudmila snapped. Pushing herself away from her mother, she stomped to the small room where her parents slept. A layer of insulating straw lay on the ground, and on top of that lay her father, her mother's empty bottle of cough suppressant hanging limply from one hand.

Her sire snorted himself awake and looked up at her through bleary, unfocused eyes. "Whaddya want, you stupid cow? Can't ya see I'm tryin' t' sleep?"

Lyudmila ripped the empty bottle of paregoric from him. "This was not yours," she snarled.

"E'reything in dis house is mine," he slurred. "Gimme sommthing to eat. I'm hungrier 'n a bear just woke up from his midwinter nap."

"There is nothing to eat," Lyudmila informed him coldly. "I spent the afternoon paying off _your_ debts and barely had enough left over to keep us from freezing tonight."

"Then yer just as useless as yer mother. Get outta my sight."

Lyudmila did as she was told, if only to keep from strangling him. The village would probably thank her for it, but for some unfathomable reason her mother still loved him, and she would never do anything to upset her mother.

Defeated, Lyudmila returned to the hearth. She tried not to see the grimy floorboards or the boarded up window. It was all she could do to make sure the family kept treading water. When her mother was well she did what she could to make sure the house was clean and their stomachs filled, but her mother was not well and the doctor did not work _pro bono_. At least not for them. He was an affable enough man, but any goodwill he might have extended to the Kuznetsova family vanished when Lyudmila's father broke his nose the year before.

Sighing, Lyudmila rubbed her eyes to keep the tears of frustration away. Her father was disagreeable enough sober. When drunk he was downright mean. She would regret it the morning if he remembered the tone she'd taken with him.

At least she'd managed to pay off his tab at the bar. That should keep him occupied enough for a week or so, and he'd leave Mother's medicine well enough alone.

"I'll go back to the apothecary tomorrow," Lyudmila told her dozing mother. "You need not suffer so."

"You would be better off buying bread," she wheezed quietly. "You work so hard. You'll lose your strength if you don't eat."

"I heard someone managed to kill the rabid bear," Lyudmila said with false cheerfulness. "I'll start setting traps again now that the forest is safe."

"That forest is never safe, child," her mother said, but she was already drifting to sleep and did not argue any further. Lyudmila took off her ragged coat to drape around her like a blanket before settling down on the ground at her mother's feet.

~x~

The walk through town was not a pleasant one. The Kuznetsovas had been well-known in the village ever since Lyudmila's grandfather managed to singlehandedly fend off a group of pirates armed only with his crossbow. His son, Lyudmila's father, rode on the coattails of his fame and grew up to be entirely useless. Vodka was cheaper than water on Mytel Island, and in a village where most men spent their nights at the bar or tavern Lyudmila's father still managed to make a name for himself as the town drunk.

But when he was young he had been charming and handsome and the dream of many a lady, proving once and for all the proverb that loved cursed people to fall for goats to be true. He, of course, ended up choosing Lyudmila's mother, using her considerable dowry go buy a charming old house in the country outright.

Trouble came along with Lyudmila herself. Her father wanted nothing more than a boy of his own, but the birth of his first child was a difficult one, and for whatever reason her mother was never able to conceive again. It quickly became apparent that Lyudmila had not inherited her mother's good looks or sweet disposition. She was thickly built with feet that seemed two sizes too big and her grandfather's square jawline. No matter what she did, she could not gain her father's approval.

Lyudmila's grandfather taught her how to hunt and trap, and when he drank he giggled like a school girl and told her bawdy stories no child had any right to hear. He died during Lyudmila's ninth year, when in the middle of a spectacular bender he decided he wanted to go ice fishing, not realizing in his inebriated state that there was no ice. Lyudmila missed him terribly, because even though he did not get along with his son, he at least made sure their house was heated during the winter months.

The death of her grandfather also removed the last buffer of protection against the community's hatred for her father, a distain that trickled down to the youngest member of the family. The most Lyudmila could hope for was pity, and amongst the hard people of Mytle that was difficult to find indeed.

Shoving her hands in her pockets and ducking her head to ignore the stares, Lyudmila shouldered her way into the apothecary. The druggist was a portly, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head that twinkled along with his shiny white teeth. His unnerving smile was the source of many a nightmare to the village children, and the sight of him made Lyudmila's flesh crawl.

"Good morning, Mila my dear," he said with a grin that was clearly meant to be winsome. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She set a handful of coins down on the table. "This should cover my line of credit."

He made a great show of counting the money. "All seems to be in order. Here's your collateral."

Lyudmila stopped him as he reached for the set of tools she'd given him in order to purchase her mother's medicine. "No, wait. I need another bottle, and that's all I have."

"Do you have a prescription?" he asked.

"You know I don't."

"Then I can't give you any more paregoric. I'm sorry, I told you last time. It's more than my job if I'm caught giving out opiates without a doc's say so."

"My mother has a bad chest," Lyudmila protested. "She can't go without it."

"What happened to what I gave you four days ago?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I dropped it." Lyudmila's lie was seamless, but the apothecary was having none of it. He slammed her tools down on the counter.

" _Out_. I have nothing to sell to you today."

~x~

The woods offered Lyudmila solitude. Free from the guilt of home and the stares of the village she could be herself without fear of repercussion. She could think and plan and worry how they were going to survive in peace, with nothing but the cold to stop her as she shot bolt after bolt after bolt into the targets her grandfather built for her years ago. Later she would hunt, and maybe in the morning she would have a creature or two caught in her traps. Strictly speaking, it was illegal to kill anything in the king's forest, but if she didn't her family would starve, and the poached furs would pay the price needed to bribe the apothecary for Mother's medicine.

Lyudmila didn't know how long she had been outside when the wind shifted, carrying the scent of smoke. With a worried frown she searched for its source. In the distance a noxious black cloud lifted into the air, coming from the direction of town.

Lyudmila broke out into a run. There was no love lost between her and the village, but if there was an out of control fire every hand would be needed to try and contain it. She could drop the crossbow off at the house, warn her mother, and be at the square in less than twenty minutes. Hopefully she would make it in time to make a difference.

Despite the heavy snow, she had never moved so quickly. Her long braid caught in a low-hanging branch. Lyudmila snarled a curse and ripped it free. An unseen patch of ice caused her to fall flat on her face. She landed awkwardly and felt a sharp pain in her ankle.

It was as if the forest itself was trying to keep her from leaving. Lyudmila limped onward until she finally came to the clearing behind her house. What she saw made her almost made her heart stop beating.

Her mother was outside in the cold, surrounded by a trio of men wielding swords. One had his pointed at her mother's neck as he gestured to the house. Mother shook her head as she answered, but her words were lost in the wind.

What were pirates doing on Mytle Island in the dead of winter? With shaking fingers, Lyudmila loaded a bolt into her crossbow. She had two left, the rest abandoned at her makeshift target range in her haste to help put out the fire.

They didn't seem to have seen her. Lyudmila crept back into the cover of the woods and watched as the pirates lowered their swords, obviously unthreatened by the sickly woman that stood before them. They were well within the three hundred yard range of her crossbow, but the wind made it a tricky shot, and Lyudmila wasn't willing to take any risks when there was a chance she would miss and hit her mother.

Finally the pirates allowed her mother to return to the house. At first Lyudmila thought they were going to let her go. She was so obviously destitute, and surely there were better places to raid than a disheveled farmstead with nothing to give.

But her mother soon returned and offered the pirates something for their inspection. Lyudmila's breath hitched when she saw the glint of sunlight reflect off of gold. _Her wedding band_. It was the only jewelry Mother still owned, but she'd lost so much weight that she could no longer wear it and there was no money to have it resized. That ring, along with her grandmother's rocking chair, were Lyudmila's mother's only treasures left in this world.

The leader of the three pirates held the glinting ring up to the light and shrugged his shoulders before pocketing it. He turned to leave, waving at his two lackeys to follow him, and for a moment it seemed like all would be well.

Then Father burst out of the house. He swayed drunkenly on his feet, howling obscenities at the pirates. The leader laughed and might have brushed the old fool off when he picked up a piece of firewood Lyudmila bought only the day before and chucked it at them.

The wood fell far short of the pirates, but it was enough to catch their attention. The leader turned as he drew his sword, intent on striking Father down.

Lyudmila acted on instinct. She loosened the bolt and was loading her second without waiting to see if her aim was true. At the same time, her mother threw herself between the pirate and the husband who never deserved her.

Blood spurted into the air as the great vessels in Lyudmila's mother's neck were cut. She was dead before she hit the ground, the pirate falling on top of her soon after with a bolt sticking out of his chest. One of the remaining pirates ran her father through while the other searched frantically for where the attack was coming from.

Lyudmila's world stopped as she loosened her second shot. The same force that was able to down a great bear caused the bolt to tear through the pirate's throat as if it were wet paper, and the quarrel buried itself into the torso of the man standing behind him. The surviving pirate tried to run as his right lung filled with blood, drowning him on dry ground. In his panic he pulled to quarrel out, only hastening his own demise.

Lyudmila did not notice. She was already running to where her mother lay. Throwing her crossbow aside, she slid onto the blood-soaked snow. Her mother's face was pale, so deathly pale, her cheeks flecked with red and the ground stained a deep carmine.

"Mama!" Lyudmila cried, cradling her mother's body close to her chest. "Mama, please come back. You can't be gone! Y-you can't be gone!"

But she was, and Lyudmila knew it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, freezing in place as the temperature plummeted. Hours later the marines found her still sitting there, close to death herself, still holding the body of one of the only people to ever love her.

~x~

It was the coldest winter in living memory, but Lyudmila did not feel it. She hadn't felt anything at all since the mass funeral for the victims of the devastating pirate attack. For once fire had not been a comfort as the flames of the pyre licked up towards the heavens, releasing the souls of the deceased to their next life.

The last duty to her mother seen to, Lyudmila wandered aimlessly with no idea where she was supposed to go. Half the village was destroyed, and though her home remained untouched it wasn't as if she could return and forget the tragedy that happened there. No one had any use for her whatsoever. No one cared about the grief of the outcast when their own was so fresh in their minds.

The world was a cruel, senseless place. Lyudmila found herself standing in front of the village's remaining bar, thinking that maybe her father had the right of it all along. He'd found his escape in the end. What was keeping her from doing the same?

Nothing, it seemed. Lyudmila promised herself on the night her grandfather died that she would never touch a drink so long as she lived. But she wasn't living now, and she wanted to forget. With heavy, thudding steps she swung the door open and took a seat. She knew the man standing behind the bar, having paid her father's tab on more than one occasion. He looked surprised to see her, but after studying her face he stopped what he was doing and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and poured some into a tumbler.

"On the house," he said, almost kindly. Lyudmila threw the glass back and swallowed the contents in one gulp, not even knowing the name of what she was drinking. She almost choked as it burned its way down to her belly, sending a warm feeling through her whole body.

Warmth. How long had it been since she'd felt warm?

"Another," she gasped, slamming the tumbler onto the bar. The bartender did as he was told, and in the years ahead when she tried to recall the exact events that led to her spending her first and only night in jail, that would be the last thing she ever remembered.

~x~

"I can't believe you're the one."

The unfamiliar voice coaxed Lyudmila back to consciousness, and the first thing she realized was that she was intolerably thirsty. She cracked open her eyelids, trying to see who spoke. That proved to be a terrible idea as her head throbbed, and she rolled over with a groan.

"If you puke on my shoes again I'm going to leave you here for the constables to deal with."

She did feel rather queasy, but there was also a strange emptiness in her stomach, like it had already evacuated its contents and there was nothing left to retch. The sour taste of vomit lingered in her mouth, and more than ever Lyudmila wanted something to drink.

"Water," she rasped.

"Smart girl. Bound to be dehydrated after a night like that."

Lyudmila sat up, groaning once more, and tried to get her eyes to focus. A tall, skinny man in a white jacket was standing before her. They were both in a jail cell, although the man seemed unperturbed by this situation.

"So she lives," he said in a jovial tone. "I was wondering when you'd wake up. Assaulting a marine officer is a serious offence, you know."

"Wha…?"

"I expect his nose will always be a little crooked, but it's his pride that's hurt more than anything. He'll never hear the end of how he got his gob smacked by some backwater island girl hard enough he had to be sent to the hospital."

"What…what are you talking about?"

The man continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And that bar! I thought those pirates were bad, but you _wrecked_ the place. Looks like a bull stampeded in there. You'll have to pay damages, of course."

Lyudmila had no idea what he was talking about, and let her head roll back against the rough wall of her cell. "Don't have any money. Everybody knows that."

"Myself, I blame the bartender. Grief and alcohol don't tend to mix well. You were practically catatonic when I saw you last."

"Saw me…last…?" She cracked an eyelid open as she remembered where she'd seen the strange man before. "You're the marine that found us. After the attack."

"Almost too late. Twice now, actually." The marine sat cross-legged in front of her, his smile fading into a more serious expression.

"You've got talent, kid. At first I thought it was luck that you managed to hit three pirates with two shots, but I was asking around about you in town and someone said you killed a rabid bear the other day, all by yourself. It'd be a damn shame to flush skill like that down the toilet, and if you keep going on this path, that's exactly what you'll do."

Lyudmila laughed harshly. "And what does it matter to you? Here, I am nobody, the daughter of nobody, who is destined to die as nobody with nobody to care when I am gone. This is a cold place, and it is only going to get colder now that the pirates have destroyed what little we have." She managed to gather enough saliva to spit on the ground in contempt. "I have nothing left to live for, so go away and let me die in peace."

The marine leaned backwards on his hands. "And what peace did drinking yourself into a stupor give you? Seems to me like you're only walking in your father's footsteps."

Anger, white-hot and furious, tore through Lyudmila and she made a weak attempt to lunge at him. "Don't you dare speak of that man," she snarled grabbing a fistful of his lapel. "He was a waste of human life. He deserved a hundred times worse than what he got."

"You mean don't say the truth?" the marine countered, not at all bothered by her violent outburst. "Maybe you're nobody here, but if you join the marines you'd have a change to become a somebody. You'd find comrades of your own and have a chance to use your skill for the benefit of the world."

"You mock me," Lyudmila said, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I may be of low standing, but I have my pride."

"I would never mock the girl who gunned down a pirate worth twenty million berries without any training." The marine batted Lyudmila's hand away and reached inside his coat, pulling out a crumpled bounty.

"The money's yours to do with as you please," he said as her jaw dropped. "Me? I'd pay my fines and use the extra to leave this little hole in the wall for good."

Twenty million berries. That was more money than she had ever seen in her life, and it was all hers. Lyudmila took the bounty from him and slowly read the crimes printed on the bottom of the poster.

"The offer still stands," the marine officer said after a while, breaking the reverent silence. "Though it won't for long. My boys and I set off later today, just as soon as I get the kid whose nose you broke discharged from the hospital. Will you be coming with me, or not?"

Lyudmila contemplated what he was saying. It was true, there was nothing left for her here, but maybe, just maybe, the rest of the world had something left to offer her? She'd never left her village before, and was terrified of the idea of doing so now. At the same time, it would be better if she was gone. Then the shame of the Kuznetsovas would be erased forever.

"I'll go with you," she said quietly, resolve strengthening with every word she spoke. "I will join your marines and hunt down men like this, who would cut down innocent people without thought."

A wide grin spread across the marine's face and he stuck out his hand. It took a moment for her to realize what he was doing, and she clasped it with her own, sealing the promise that would change her life forever.

* * *

 **Lyudmila Kuznetsova Biographical Summary**

Physical Description: Brown hair, long when young, cut short and messily styled after joining marines (for more natural camouflage, so she says). Eyes also brown, but due to extreme farsightedness often hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses when not fighting. 6'2", 210 pounds, solidly built. Square jawline and long, thin-bladed nose. Often described as "masculine", which bothers her more than she lets on. Likes to wear khaki pants and simple button down shirts with a small marine gull embroidered on the breast pocket. Rarely seen without her crossbow.

Personality: No stranger to hard work, Lyudmila will do whatever needs to be done when it needs done. Slow to anger, slow to speak, often internalizes emotions both good and bad, and on very rare occasions has been known to explode often with violent results. Refuses to go to any event where she knows alcohol will be served and dislikes winter islands, and due to her upbringing extremely careful with her money. Will listen to whoever needs a sympathetic ear, but will not speak of her past and early marine career. Described by others as a good mate in a pinch, but difficult to know on a personal level.

Hobbies: Took up gardening to keep from drinking and eventually started collecting miniature trees. She has a bonsai that she likes to take with her on long missions whenever possible

Affiliations: Marines, Kuznetsova family (former)

Devil Fruit/Fighting Style: Exceptional sniper, has greater range and accuracy with her crossbow than the basic rifle most marines carry, and with some modifications is able to have a faster reload time as well. Is able to hold her own in a brawl and has great physical strength for a woman. Eventually learns rudimentary Observation Haki later in her career

Strengths: Level headed in chaotic situations, Lyudmila is capable of both following orders and improvising when necessary. Able to complete complex mathematical equations in her head and under immense pressure, which in turn enables her to be one of the best sharpshooters the marines have ever seen

Weakness: As a young marine Lyudmila developed a drinking problem that almost cost her career. Even a small amount of alcohol is enough to make her become violent, and she goes to extreme lengths not to ingest any accidentally. More of a follower than a leader, she is unlikely to question orders even when the orders she receives are very questionable.

To Appear In: _Women of Valor_

Inspiration: I named this OC after Lyudmila Pavlichenko, a Ukrainian-born Soviet sniper with 309 kills to her name. Google tells me that Kuznetsova is the Russian equivalent of Smith. In-universe Lyudmila's family used to be blacksmiths, but on a more meta level I wanted to tell the story of someone "common" conquering incredible odds in part due to uncommon talent, a recurring theme in _Women of Valor_ (should I ever get around to writing it). Research also tells me that "love makes people fall for goats" is a Russian proverb, equivalent to "love is blind, but the neighbor's ain't."


	2. Gale of Cambia

Gale of Cambia was never meant to be queen. She was never meant to be married and never meant to have children, but the day her father and younger brother decided to survey the country after a series of torrential rains they unwittingly set off a chain of events that would change her life forever. Gale would never forget the moment she was told of the rockslide that claimed the lives of her only remaining family, or the realization that as the king's only surviving child that she would have be become everything she was never meant to be.

Less than two years into her reign, Gale was still learning what it meant to rule. What she lacked in experience she made up for in diligence and iron will. Not even her sick bed was enough to keep her from staying up to date on the multitudes of reports that came in from all across the country on a daily basis.

It was there her husband found her. After knocking quietly, the king consort stepped into the doorway of the royal suite. He took one look at the stacks of paper scattered over Gale's bed and shook his head. "You should be resting," he said ruefully. "May I come in?"

Gale nodded, but didn't take her eyes off of the missive that lay in front of her. "Did you see this, Cole? The Celestial Dragons are demanding that we raise our tribute. We can't possibly afford to pay any more this close to winter. Not without starving our people."

"What a Dragon wants, a Dragon takes," Cole replied as he sat at the edge of the bed. "We will have to find a way of giving them what they want."

It wasn't the answer Gale wanted to hear, but she knew it was true. Her stomach churned, though there was nothing left for her to vomit. With a shaking hand she set the Dragon's demand aside and looked up at her husband. "We must push the modernization agenda with the council. Cambia cannot survive on coal and goats much longer. We need factories, modern manufacturing…anything to expand our sources of revenue."

"I know," Cole said. "Convincing the traditionalists has always been the problem."

"They're all fools," Gale said. "We're running out of _time_ , and if they can't see that then they're blind as well as stupid."

Cole did not respond immediately. He took in his wife's mounting distress and placed the back of his head on her forehead. "You're burning up," he said quietly. "When was the last time you drank anything?"

"You know very well that I wouldn't be able to keep it down," Gale said, shying away from his touch. "I can't afford to spend the day throwing up when there's so much that needs to be done."

"The kingdom will not fall apart if you take a day to attend to your needs. Your health is more important than the council or even the poxy Dragons. For once, just let me help—"

"I felt it move," Gale said harshly, cutting him off. "I felt…I felt the baby move."

Cole froze, his eyes widening in shock. "I…what?"

Gale balled her hands up in her sheets, blinking back tears. "We are running out of time. I must do everything to put our plans into motion before you become regent. Otherwise your hands will be tied by the council and the law both, and it will be nearly impossible to initiate any new programs until our child comes of age. And I think we both can agree that by then it will be too late for Cambia. If pirates don't whittle us away to nothing then our enemies will eat us alive. There are whispers that the Germa are warmongering again, and…and…"

Tears spilled down Gale's face, momentarily cooling cheeks inflamed with fever. She flinched as Cole reached to wipe them away, and the look of heartbreak that flickered across his features shamed her. He was a good man and the father of her child, but she did not love him, and on her worst days resented the part he played in her current situation.

"You talk like your death is inevitable," Cole said. "You're young, and three months ago were as healthy as possible given your…your unique condition." He leaned forward and gently lifted her chin up. He gazed deeply into Gale's amethyst-colored eyes. "Your Highness, forgive my boldness, but my mother spent the first six hours of labor investigating a mine collapse, and you're _still_ the strongest woman I know. Don't underestimate yourself."

Gale chuckled humorlessly and wiped her face, thinking about her few interactions with the formidable Duchess of the High Hills. "I never knew that's how you got your name."

"Hmn. And I never heard the story behind yours."

"I was born in the middle of a terrible storm. My father swore he could hear the wind over my mother's screams in the birthing chamber," Gale said, surprising herself even as she shared the story. Names were deeply personal things in Cambia, considered an essential part of a person's identity. To talk about it was to share a hitherto hidden part of herself with her husband, an intimacy that made her uncomfortable. Gale cleared her throat, eager to change the subject. "All that aside, we must plan for the worst."

"And hope for the best." Cole's gaze drifted to Gale's midriff, where the sheets hid the burgeoning evidence of her pregnancy. "May I?"

"I only felt it quicken this morning. You'll not be able to feel anything yet," Gale said. Cole's disappointment was impossible to miss, and she sighed before pulling she sheet away. Her thin nightgown was damp with perspiration, but Cole gave no indication of disgust as he placed one of his large hands over the swell of her belly.

"Hello, little prince," he whispered. "You ought not cause your mother so much trouble. It makes her irritable."

"It does not," Gale said, managing to smile. "And for all you know, that's a little princess you're addressing."

"Duly noted. I'll remember that next time…Gale?" Cole glanced up as the queen froze. "Gale, is something wrong?"

"No," Gale said reverently, placing her hand over her husband's as she felt her stomach twitch for a second time. "No, keep talking."

She would never say so out loud, but now that she had felt her baby move she was afraid of it going still—that her sick, frail body would be unable to cope with the stress of carrying a child and it would die, to join the countless other princes and princesses of her family line that never lived to take their first breath.

But in this moment, amidst the countless problems that surrounded her and her country, Gale's child was alive. And as long as this baby found the strength to survive, Gale was determined to do the same.

~x~

There was a legend going back to the dawn of Cambian history that told of the man who would later unite the country under one banner. The stories said that in a moment of weakness he made a deal with the Devil ensuring that as long as Cambia continued as a nation one of his descendants would be seated on the throne. Leolin the Great was the first of an unbroken royal line that centuries later would produce Gale, but such a deal came with a price: No ruler of Cambia would live to see old age.

Gale never put much stock in the old stories, but portraits did show that Leolin was the first of her ancestors to have purple eyes, the hallmark of all those who developed the Sickness. The unique disease existed only in her family line, spread from parent to child, generation after generation, with no known cure or prevention. Those with purple eyes bore the brunt of the curse, the mark that showed Death who He was allowed to embrace before their time.

Gale's brother had only been a carrier, hearty and hale as an ordinary man. Though she was the oldest child, her eyes disqualified her as queen. Any physical or mental distress was known to accelerate the condition, and pregnancy was as good as a death sentence. Gale's maiden great-aunt had been fifty-five before succumbing; at one time Gale had been determined to make it to sixty.

After the death of her father and brother, her priority shifted to finding a suitable husband and producing and heir as quickly as possible. Nearly thirty years old, Cole was more than a decade her elder, but he was the only qualified candidate who shared her desire for modernization. Most days they were more allies working toward a common goal than husband and wife, but over time Gale's confidence that he would do what was best for the kingdom in her absence solidified into something more.

On good days he visited her, coaxing her to eat and drink while giving news of the kingdom. As the weeks passed even sitting up to read reports began to drain stamina that Gale didn't have, and Cole quickly became the one person she could trust not to sugarcoat the truth for fear of upsetting her delicate constitution.

"There are reports of influenza as near as Ferndale," Cole said during one such visit, naming the township closest to the capital. It was now the eighth month of Gale's pregnancy, and she was for all intents and purposes confined to her bed. "There are twelve deaths we know of, which means there are probably dozens more that remain unreported. The council and I are setting up plans for an investigation after the baby is born."

"Waiting will only make things worse," Gale said. She hated how weak her voice had become, how sometimes the act of speaking left her feeling as if she had run laps around the castle moat. "The baby isn't due for nearly a month. Go, do what you can. An epidemic is the last thing the country needs."

"But…"

"Our first duty is to our people," Gale said, echoing a line often said by her father. "It isn't as if you'll be of any use here when the baby comes."

The room fell silent, and Gale was grateful that her back was turned to her husband so she couldn't see his face. She let her eyes flutter closed. "I'm sorry. You've done more than enough already for your useless invalid of a wife. I just feel so…out of sorts."

"Do I need to fetch the doctor?" Cole asked.

"No, no more doctors. It's not that sort of pain."

"You're in pain?" Cole said, an edge of concern in his voice. "Where? For how long?"

"I've had an ache in my back for weeks now. It's simply more persistent today." She craned back her head to look at him properly, noting he remained unconvinced. "I mean it. No more doctors. The last one stuck me with leeches."

Cole managed a weary smile and brushed a tendril of hair out of her face. "That sounds miserable."

"It was." There was another beat of heavy silence. "Cole, no matter what else happens, this baby must be born alive. I…I don't think I can do this again."

"Hush now. By all accounts it's doing well. _You_ are the one who's been suffering through this."

"I'm well aware," Gale said. She swallowed hard, trying to beat back the fears that ate at her day and night, giving her no reprieve. "I don't know if I have the strength to get through labor. When the time comes, if I can't…" Gale took a deep, shuddering breath. "Cambia needs an heir, it needs _stability_. The midwives and doctors must be willing to do everything in their power to bring this child into the world, even if they have to cut it out of me."

"Gale!"

"You must tell them!" she insisted. "They won't listen to me because they think I'm too young and too sick to understand. Well, I may be young, but I know that there's a chance that this child will be born completely healthy, and that's something I will never be. Promise me, Cole."

"I…Gale…"

"I'm not asking as your wife," Gale said, something dark and terrible flashing in her eyes. "I am ordering you as your Queen. This baby must live, even if I do not."

Cole stiffened as if she had slapped him, all color leaving his face. The stunned silence hung heavily through the room, a wall springing up between husband and wife. When he spoke again each word was steady and measured, with a formality in his tone that had not been present since their wedding night.

"I…I will do as you command, Your Highness. On one condition."

Gale wanted to scream in frustration. "You are in no position to be making conditions!"

"And neither are you," Cole said coolly. "You may not see it, Your Highness, but when my mother was on her deathbed she made me vow to always do what was best for this country, no matter the personal cost to myself. A year ago that meant marrying you, but now…" Cole squeezed his eyes closed and clasped his hand around hers. The lines on his face deepened, aging him fifteen years in an instant. "I've learned you're not a spoilt girl only good for producing an heir to fill your father's throne. You're intelligent, dedicated…God, you're even beautiful. I…I know I'm being selfish, but Your Highness…Gale…"

"Please don't say it," Gale whispered as tears streaked down his cheeks. "It will only make things more difficult."

"I love you, and I don't want to lose you."

Gale's heart tore to shreds as her husband broke down into tears, hanging his head as he wept. Her father always told her that she was never meant to fall in love, and she had believed him. Courtly ballads and the tales of forbidden romance that circulated around the castle had always left her strangely unmoved. Love was a dangerous thing that hurt more than it healed, and she had no time to waste on matters of the heart.

"I'm sorry," Gale said. She cupped his face tenderly and opened her mouth to say more, to offer him some reassurance, only to find she had none. "I…I truly am."

"I want to be there when the baby is born," Cole said, still refusing to look her in the eye. "That is my ultimatum."

"You want to _what_?" Gale said, alarmed. She'd never heard of something as ridiculous as a man being let into the birthing chamber. It simply wasn't done, especially not in a land as steeped in tradition and superstition as Cambia.

On the other hand, without Cole's presence there was no guarantee that the midwives and doctors would obey his instruction. Instinctively Gale covered her belly with her arms, unsure of what to do. She did not particularly _want_ Cole's presence while she gave birth, but there was a chance it would be necessary.

"Let me think about it," Gale said, her tone dangerously close to begging. "We have over three weeks before any decision has to be made, and you might not be back from Ferndale, rendering this whole discussion moot."

"You can't possibly expect me to be in Ferndale while you're having our child."

"I expect you to do your duty, as I must do mine," Gale said. "Now, please, can we talk about something more pleasant?"

Cole looked like he wanted to argue, but thankfully only pursed his lips into a thin line. "Don't think you can get out of this that easily," he warned, "but I think I've caused enough distress for today. What would you like to discuss?"

"I don't know, anything," Gale said wearily, a hint of teenage petulance in her voice. She was so tired of her own state of perpetual exhaustion. "I've not been further than the privy for nearly a week." She gestured to her expansive bedroom. "I don't even have a decent window to stare out of to pass the time. Apparently the slightest draft will send me to my death."

"And you'll send me to mine," Cole muttered. He scratched the back of his head. "I did hear one of the servants say that the hyacinths are starting to bloom."

"So soon?" Gale said. "What if there's a hard frost?"

Cole shrugged. "Who knows? With a little effort even the most delicate things can overcome difficult circumstances."

His meaning wasn't lost on Gale, and she narrowed her eyes. "This isn't helping you should go."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when a pain, worse than any she'd experienced through the day, settled deep in her back. Gale was unable to stifle a moan, completely destroying the front she'd been upholding up to that point.

Gale had been telling the truth when she said she'd been experiencing back pain for weeks. The royal physician assured her it was normal and prescribed hot water bottles and rest, both of which helped alleviate her symptoms. What Gale had been experiencing that day, however, was something quite different. It were almost as if she were having menstrual cramps, only much greater in intensity than she had ever felt in her life. The pains were irregular and short—distracting but not debilitating when compared to how overwhelmingly uncomfortable she was already. Through the entirety of Cole's visit she'd scarcely noticed that the rounds of discomfort were occurring in shorter and shorter intervals, gaining in both strength and frequency.

A warm feeling of wetness trickled down her leg, and Gale's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Thinking that she'd soiled herself, she bunched the sheets up over her lap, trying to hide her shame from Cole.

"I…I think you need to go," Gale said, suddenly unsure and afraid and vulnerable.

"Gale, what's wrong?" Cole said. "Talk to me, please."

"I said go away!"

Another pain came, catching her by surprise and taking her breath away. Gale doubled over and clutched her abdomen, silently counting the seconds as it rose in intensity, eventually peaking like a wave before retreating once more.

"Gale?" Cole asked tentatively. He tugged the sheet out of her hands and exposed the dark stain of fluid. "Dear God. Gale, your waters…"

"It's too soon," Gale gasped as panic rose in her throat. "I-I have four weeks yet. I'm not ready."

"I think your body disagrees," Gale said. "I'll fetch the midwife."

Gale grabbed his arm before he could stand. There was hardly any strength left in her grip, but he froze. "Promise me," she begged. "Promise me you'll do what needs to be done."

His face crumpled, a pain that was worse than anything Gale had ever seen on another person flashing in his eyes. "I…I promise."

~x~

Gale's labor was long and difficult. The midwives were not pleased with Cole's presence, and while they could not override their queen's command they could and did regulate him to a corner on the opposite side of the room. At first Gale bore each pain stoically, but as time passed her composure cracked, and then shattered. His wife's cries faded into low moans as progress stalled, and Cole could tell that Gale's strength was flagging.

"She's too small," Cole heard one of the midwives whisper to another. "I'm not sure her hips are wide enough."

"Nonsense. First delivery always goes long," another said. She turned her attention to Gale. "Now I know you'll feel the urge to push, but you're not ready yet."

It was uncertain how much she truly understood, and Gale sobbed as another contraction tore through her. "Where's Cole? I want Cole!"

"I'm here," he said, jumping to his feet. "I'm here, just like I promised."

"Sit back down!" the senior midwife said. "You may rule the kingdom, but in this room my rule is final!"

Anger roared with in the king, fueled by a powerful instinct to protect his wife and the mother of his child. He strode past the hapless woman, and glared at her with barely suppressed fury. "No. The queen as called, and it is my duty to answer." Bending over his wife, he pressed his lips against Gale's sweat-stained brow. "I'm here."

Violet eyes glazed with torment pierced into his very soul. Lips, cracked and bleeding from where she had bitten, contorted in agony. "Please, make it stop. I…I can't."

Tears fell down Cole's cheeks. He had spent nearly twenty hours in this godforsaken room listening as his wife attempted to deliver the child she was never meant to have. He had put the love of his life in a situation she now found unbearable, and though he had had little choice in the matter he could not deny that he was the cause of Gale's current suffering.

"You can," Cole murmured, placing his hand on his wife's belly, feeling the muscles tighten and contract. An inhuman scream tore from Gale's throat and her back arched.

"This kingdom needs you," Cole continued. "This baby will need you, and, damn it all, I need you. You can't give up now, not when you're so close."

"I hate you," Gale sobbed. "I hate you so much."

"I know."

Cole placed Gale's hand in his own and continued to talk about anything and nothing, doing his best to keep his wife's mind away from the despair and hopelessness he knew she battled every day. Whether is words had any affect or if the natural process of labor had simply continued, Gale soon began to dilate at a rapid pace, as if her body were trying to make up for the wasted time.

Cole continued to hold her hand as the midwives turned her in a more optimal position to push, and continued to whisper a steady stream of encouragement when Gale squeezed it in a death-grip as she bore down.

"Head is born," one of the midwives said approvingly. "Now just give me one more big push with the next contraction."

"I can't," Gale said hoarsely. "There's nothing left."

"You can," Cole contradicted.

And she did. Moments later both parents were turning their heads toward a high-pitched, keening cry that filled the room. A wide grin threatened to split Cole's face in two as Gale let out a cry of relief. The babe was small, almost too small to produce such a loud noise. The midwives hurried in to cut the cord and swaddle the infant before placing Cambia's heir at its mother's breast.

"Congratulations, Your Highness, it's a baby girl."

"Told…you…" Gale said, something that was almost a smile gracing her lips. She set her head back on the pillow, her limbs going lax.

"That you did," Cole said reverently.

Mother and baby were asleep in moments, and Cole let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. Fingers shaking with relief, he brushed the hair out of her eyes. She looked so peaceful now, the flame of fever finally out of her cheeks, leaving them with their natural ivory coloring.

No, ivory implied health and vitality. Cole realized with a shock that all the color had left his wife's face, making her look like a ghost. Or a corpse.

"Something's wrong," he stammered, standing suddenly to his feet. "Something's wrong with Gale!"

And that was when she began to bleed, and would not stop.

~x~

In later years, Gale would be able to remember little of the labor and delivery of her daughter. Based on what she did recall, she knew that was probably for the best. She would always regret missing the first contact with her only child, but simply being alive was consolation enough.

Only the combined talents of the midwives had saved her from bleeding out, and for that reason Gale would pretend that she did not remember their disgusting show of insubordination in the makeshift birthing room. She spent weeks recovering from the ordeal, slipping in and out of consciousness while her body struggled with the aftermath of her pregnancy.

Recovery was slow. Getting from the bed to the chairs on the other side of the room was an arduous journey that took days to complete. It was a week before Gale felt well enough to see her daughter, but when she requested assistance leaving the bedroom she was told that she wasn't allowed.

"What do you mean not allowed?" Gale demanded. The servant cringed at her tone and took a half-step back.

"By order of the king and ratified by the council, Your Highness. You're not to leave this room."

Gale did not have an explosive temper. She did not scream and she did not shout, but the servant gulped loudly as the Queen of Cambia drew herself up to her full height, looking down her nose like the girl was a thing to be squashed beneath her feet.

"You've ten seconds to explain yourself before there are consequences," Gale said, her voice stony hard. "Dire consequences. Do you understand me?"

"I-It's the sickness!" the servant stammered. "It's made it to the capital, and the whole castle is being kept in isolation to prevent its spread. The king came in to tell you, but you were kind of asleep and wouldn't wake up."

It was like someone had snatched the breath out of Gale's chest, icy cold fear quenching the anger just as quickly as it had come. "Where is the king now?"

"I don't know, I swear! No one does. He went out to oversee the effort in the city and commanded us to lock the gates behind him. Anyone coming or going is to be shot with extreme prejudice until we receive word that the sickness has passed through, and _you're_ not to leave this room in case the influenza somehow got in anyway."

Gale was forced to sit down, her head swimming with new information. "A-and the baby? Is the baby safe?"

The servant nodded emphatically. "Last I heard, yes. She's a little 'un, but once she figured out how to latch has been nursing well."

"Thank God," Gale said, faint with relief. She stared blankly at the four walls of her bedroom, which had just become her prison. While she didn't necessarily disagree with Cole's decision and would not attempt to overturn it, it killed her that once again her health was dictating her ability to rule, and she longed to see her child.

"Fetch me paper and a bottle of ink," Gale said.

"What?"

"If the king is out organizing the people that means there is no one to run the day to day affairs of State. I refuse to sit here and twiddle my thumbs. If Cole is out there attending to the needs of the capital, then I will address the needs of the nation. Now go and fetch me paper and a bottle of ink. There's work to be done."

~x~

The quarantine lasted for thirty days, and in that time Gale recovered from her pregnancy as much as she ever would. She could already tell that she was weaker than before, more fragile. Foods that she had once eaten without difficulty were now almost impossible to stomach, and she was perpetually fatigued. Her hair and nails lost their luster, and when Gale looked in the mirror she couldn't help but notice that she looked…ill. Sickly. _Unwell._

She would have no more children. Even if Gale thought her body could handle the stress, the midwives and doctors agreed that the difficulties of her labor would likely leave her womb barren. When they had explained it to her Gale had felt the smallest pang of regret. The only thing she remembered of her daughter was her shrill cries at being so rudely entered to the world, but at that moment all the hardship, all the pain, had been worth it.

Against all odds, Gale was a mother.

Her first order of business after being released from her room was to be escorted to the nursery. Her daughter had gone far too long without a proper name, and though she'd spent a great many hours pondering, nothing Gale thought of seemed right. She wanted to see the child for herself before consulting Cole, who was expected to return to the castle any day now that there was no more influenza in the capital.

Every report Gale received spoke of a healthy and vivacious newborn, but when Gale finally laid eyes on her daughter she was asleep. When she saw the queen, the wet nurse attending to the babe scrambled to her feet.

"She just finished feeding," the woman said. "It tires her."

Gale nodded, her whole attention on the girl. She seemed so impossibly small even for a newborn, lacking the fat of a baby that had been carried to term. A sweet, precious face was all that could be seen under the layers of swaddling, but even from a distance Gale could see a few strands of wispy black hair, the exact shade of her own.

"The old hands say she looks just like you when you was first born," the wet nurse said softly.

"May I…may I hold her?" Gale said, uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

"You're the queen and her mother. Ain't nothing in this world that could stop you."

Gale took the child, clutching her tightly for fear of dropping her. Gale had been scarcely more than a baby herself when her brother was born, and had no experience with infants. Patiently the wet nurse corrected her hold into a more natural position. The jostling caused the babe to wake, and she looked up at her mother, her dark purple eyes almost too large for her tiny face.

Gale's breath hitched. "N-no, this can't be. They said she was healthy. It must be a trick of the light, t-they said…" Gale pushed the baby into the wet nurse's arms and clasped a hand around her mouth as the bile rose in her throat.

The baby blinked, but when she opened her eyes they were the same color as before. Gale couldn't stand to look at those cursed eyes and stumbled back to the safety of her bedroom. This couldn't be happening—her daughter couldn't have inherited her weakness. Gale couldn't have doomed her child to sharing her fate.

Somehow Gale managed to make it to the royal suite. A courier was blocking the door, and Gale was fighting hysterics as he offered her the customary bow. "Your Highness," he said politely. "I've been waiting for your return. Urgent message from the city."

In his hands were a potted plant and an envelope. Gale took the envelope and tore it open without really being aware of what she was doing. There were only three words written on the parchment, but she recognized her husband's handwriting immediately.

 _Duty unto death._

"Wh-what?" Gale's eyes widened and she looked to the courier for answers. "What does this mean?"

"Dunno, Your Highness. I was just told to bring it to you right away, along with this."

He held up the plant for Gale's inspection. "Hyacinths?" she asked, utterly confused as to their meaning. The flower was in full bloom, each petal a rich purple. Dozens of small flowers grew on each stalk, only a few shades lighter than her daughter's eyes.

At that moment another messenger ran towards them at full speed. He skidded to a stop in front of Gale, a look of wild panic on his face. "Your Highness, terrible news! The king has fallen ill. We thought he'd avoided the worst of it, but it got him, just like it got all the rest."

~x~

Gale of Cambia was never meant to survive her daughter's birth. She chose Cole to be her husband because she knew—or at least hoped—that when she died that he would guide both their child and the country down the road of modernization. She planned for the worst, while her naiveté led her to severely underestimate what the worst could possibly be.

No, Gale of Cambia was never meant to find a husband who loved her enough to try to save her, nor one stubborn enough to succeed in doing so. She was never meant to outlive her spouse, nor to train up her daughter alone with the realization that she would be dead before she came of age.

She was never meant to, but she did, and that knowledge haunted Gale every day for the rest of her short life. Necessity forced her to take out a loan to pay the tribute the Celestial Dragons demanded, which in turn forced her to raise taxes on a population ravaged by an epidemic. The progress she had so long dreamed of ground to a screeching halt, and it was uncertain whether it would ever begin again.

Gale was well aware of each and every one of the many failings in those early years of her reign, and if there was any hope of her daughter inheriting a stable throne then there could be no more. Gale disciplined herself in the art of politics, closing herself off from any emotions that might cloud her judgement. That was, all emotions except for one.

"Mama, may I go outside?"

The queen did not look up from her report. "Have you finished your lessons?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Practiced your penmanship?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Watered your plants?"

 _"_ _Yes,_ Mama," the young girl said, exasperated. "I'm completely finished with everything you set for me today, now may I _please_ go outside?"

Queen Gale set her report down and raised her eyebrows. Her daughter copied the expression with a jester's air of mocking play, and the queen sighed. "Take that tone with me again and I'll see to it you never go outside again. Now go, you're making me tired just looking at you."

"Thank you, Mama!" The girl rushed to her mother and hugged her tightly around the waist. Queen Gale returned the gesture, combing her fingers through her long, dark hair.

"Now Hyacinth, what have I told you?" Queen Gale murmured.

"That hugs are improper and a breach of decorum and that I must never indulge lest our enemies take it as a sign of weakness." Young Princess Hyacinth beamed cheekily up at the queen as she parroted the words. "But there are no enemies here, so I'm not going to stop until I have to because they make you smile."

Queen Gale could only shake her head as her daughter bounded off, full of vim and vigor that would be cruelly snatched away from her before her time. She knew she shouldn't indulge her daughter in this way, but at that moment, amidst the countless problems that surrounded her and her country, Queen Gale's child was alive. And as long as Princess Hyacinth could find the strength to smile, Queen Gale was determined to do the same.

* * *

 **Gale of Cambia Biographical Summary**

Physical Description: Slight in stature and build due to mild malnutrition caused by her illness. Long black hair kept impeccably coiffed as per her station with a skin tone that's either pale-to-pasty white depending on the day. Most striking feature are her dark purple eyes, which both mark her as a royal and as one who has inherited a terrible disease. She prefers a simpler style of dress than one might think considering her station, but as she spends the majority of her time feeling vaguely nauseated she doesn't like to make herself more uncomfortable by wearing fancy clothes. What she lacks in pomp is more than made up for in her regal bearing, and she is often described as having a gaze that can cut through a man's soul

Personality: Gale has known for as long as she can remember that she was destined to die young. She spent the first sixteen years of her life purposefully not forming attachments to anything or anybody because she was afraid that she would be hurt by them. She fully expected to die having her daughter but did so anyway out of a strong sense of duty to her country, and when she ended up surviving the ordeal when Cole did not she was absolutely terrified. Some might call her callous or unfeeling—especially to Hyacinth—but the reality is that she knows her country is in at a crossroads that will result in survival or ruin, and that the days until her daughter takes the throne are limited.

Hobbies: What little free time Gale has is coaching Hyacinth, hoping to shape her into a worthy leader

Affiliations: The World Government, North Blue

Devil Fruit/Fighting Style: lol, no. She is Commander-in-Chief to the royal army, though

Strengths: Gale's greatest strength is arguably her pragmatism. She rarely lets her emotions interfere with her decision making process, and has used every trick she knows to guide a stubborn and traditional country down the first steps of modernization and progress.

Weaknesses: Physical illness haunts almost every aspect of Gale's life. Even after consulting dozens of doctors from around the world and subjecting herself to treatments that range from well-meaning but useless to inhumane and sadistic, it's unlikely that she will reach forty. What's worse is that she knows _Hyacinth_ is destined to share her fate. That, along with the loss of her father, brother, and husband in such a short period of time left her very cynical and bitter, almost to the point of nihilism. Gale does what she does because she feels obligated to do it, but finds no joy or happiness in ruling.

To Appear In: _(7) Days_

Inspiration: The name 'Cambia' is borrowed from 'Cambria', a lesser-used name for Wales, and geographically-speaking I imagine the two being very similar (coincidentally, it's also the name of a medicine used to treat arthritis). The idea of having a royal with a heredity disease comes from hemophilia being spread through the royal families of several countries via the children of Queen Victoria, although I left the nature of her illness intentionally vague. The tradition of giving babies significant and very personal names is just something I think is cool. Gale, though in-universe was named after a literal gust of wind, is a variant of Abigail or Gayle which ironically mean "father's joy" and "jovial" respectively while phonetically similar to "gaol" (fun fact: someone with Gale as a surname might have had an ancestor who worked in a prison).

Hyacinth, in addition to referencing her purple eyes and Cole's final gift to his wife, has significance in the language of flowers. The purple hyacinth represents sorrow and the asking of forgiveness, which Gale was well aware of when naming her daughter.

Purple is often called the color of royalty, which is why I chose it to represent the royal disease. Unusually colored eyes is also a hallmark of Mary Sue-type characters, and I thought it was funny to have a sick, emotionally stunted character to physically look like a Sue.

As always, thanks for reading. Please drop a review if you feel so inclined.


	3. Nico Mizuira

It was late when Nico Mizuira and her parents got back from the restaurant. Today had been the best birthday _ever!_ She had gotten presents, and was allowed to eat all her favorite foods, and the waitress had sung the happy birthday song for everyone to hear. Clutching her new doll close to her chest, Mizuira skipped to her room. Momma promised to come in a little bit to tuck her in, the perfect end to a perfect day.

Mizuira took out the ribbons that Momma had put in her hair, put her pajamas on, and hopped into bed. She held her dolly up to the ceiling, contemplating what name to give it. Across the hall Momma made sure Robin was where she was supposed to be.

Finally, Momma came in. Mizuira saw her scowl for a moment in the direction of Robin's room, before turning to give her a large smile.

"Mizu, you're growing up so fast! Nine years old already," Momma said.

"Yep! I'm a big girl now, aren't I?"

Tucking the blankets in under her daughter's chin, her mother chuckled softly. "Yes, sweetheart. And big girls need to know when to go to sleep so they can keep their strength."

"Yes, Momma," Mizuira said. She wanted to argue that she wasn't tired, honest, but her eyelids were growing heavy. It was hard to keep them open now, even though Mizuira didn't want this wonderful day to be over.

"Would you like me to sing you a song?"

"Yes, Momma," Mizuira said through a yawn.

Momma's voice was low and soft, and before long Mizuira drifted off into sweet dreams.

~x~

It was still dark when Mizuira opened her eyes. Her blankets were warm and comfy, but she had to pee and couldn't get back to sleep. Grabbing her doll by one hand, she shuffled her way to the bathroom.

By the time Mizuira made her way back to her bedroom, she was a little more awake. As she walked by Robin's room she heard a strange noise. Stopping, Mizuira leaned into listen.

It kinda sounded like crying.

No, that was dumb. Why would Robin be crying in the middle of the night? Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Mizuira snuck closer to the door. This time there was no mistaking the noise for anything else.

She almost went in to see what was wrong. Did Robin need a hug? Momma's hugs always made Mizuira feel better.

But Mizuira stood at Robin's door and couldn't make herself go any farther. Robin's power was scary, and it was dark out. What if her cousin did something weird, like grow hands out of the walls or dangle eyeballs from the ceiling?

It wasn't like Robin liked her much, anyway. She spent all her time at the library, and when they did talk she used big words that Mizuira didn't know, trying to make her feel stupid. Robin was a creep and a freeloader without any real parents to take care of her. Momma said so, and if Momma said so it had to be true.

Mizuira went back to bed, clutching her doll close to her chest before pulling her covers over her head. For some reason, it took her a long, long time to get back to sleep.

~x~

"What do you mean you're not allowed to play with the Scott children anymore?" Momma hissed.

"I don't know," Mizuira said through hitched breaths as she clutched onto her mother's skirts. "They said…they said Robin did something bad yesterday, and that our family's a-a bad influence!"

Momma gasped. "She wouldn't dare!" Mizuira didn't know if she was talking about Mrs. Scott or Robin, so she just nodded, fat tears streaming down her face.

Yesterday had been wonderful. How could today be so awful? Momma looked very angry now; she was shaking and pushed Mizuira away. Even Daddy, usually so calm, had his hands balled up into fists.

"Roji, I'll talk to the Scotts and get this sorted out. This must be a misunderstanding…" Momma's glare cut him off. Smiling weakly, he grabbed his hat and scurried out the door.

"Where is that brat?" Momma said venomously. "What did she do?"

Mizuira didn't know the answer. All she knew was that when she had gone over to play Thomas had a big knot on his forehead, and Mrs. Scott had shooed her out of the house without a real explanation.

"Momma, I don't want to be a bad influence!" Mizuira cried.

"Mizu, you're not. It's that damn girl!" Mizuira gasped at the swear word, but Momma didn't notice. "Now go to your room. Your father and I will get this sorted out."

~x~

Things must not have gotten sorted out, because Momma never did call her out from her bedroom. Robin was gone for a long time, but Mizuira knew the exact moment she got back.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" she heard Momma bellow from downstairs. Mizuira huddled up against the wall between her dresser and her bed. She hated it when Momma yelled, and Robin was always doing things that made Momma yell.

There was a moment of silence as Robin answered, before Momma shouted, "YOU DESERVE TO GET ROCKS THROWN AT YOU, YOU FREAK OF NATURE! YOU WASTE OF SPACE! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"

Mizuira clasped her hands over her ears, trying desperately to block out the noise from downstairs.

~x~

Daddy was the one who came to tuck Mizuira in that night. She was already hiding under her covers when he came into the room and laid down next to her. Running his long fingers through her hair, he made soft soothing noises. Slowly Mizuira began to relax, and she snuggled in closer to her father.

"Daddy, when is Robin's momma coming back? I don't want her to live here anymore."

Sighing softly, he pulled his hand away. "I don't know, Mizu-dearest. Your aunt has a very important job…"

"What _is_ her job?" Mizuira interrupted.

"I…I don't exactly…"

"You don't know. No one knows," she accused. "And no one knows when she's coming back either, right?"

"That's right, sweetheart. I don't even know how to contact Olvia…" Daddy shook his head. "But enough of that. Robin's not going anywhere."

"But _why_?" Mizuira whined. "No one likes her, and she gets into trouble all the time. Now I can't even play with Anna and Thomas anymore!"

Mizuira's father went very still for a moment. "Mizu, do you know what the phrase 'Blood is thicker than water' means?"

"It means family's most important," she said mulishly.

"Exactly. Robin is family, and family takes care of one another. No matter what hardships come, a family always endures them. Together," he said emphatically.

Mizuira wished Robin wasn't related to them. "So you and Momma will always take care of me?" she whispered.

"Of course, sweetheart. Now, how about a bedtime song?"

Daddy's voice wasn't as nice as Momma's, but it was kinder. Before long, Mizuira's eyes fluttered closed and she was overwhelmed by sleep.

~x~

In the days after Mizuira's birthday, Robin spent more time out of the house than usual. That suited Mizuira just fine, as she wasn't very happy with her cousin. She still wasn't allowed to play with the Scott children, and Momma was in a foul mood. Even though Daddy said to give it time, Mizuira was sure that she would never be able to play with her friends again, and it was all Robin's fault.

Then, a week after she turned nine years old, the men in the black suits invaded the island.

"Momma…" Mizuira whispered. They were on a boat, but even out on the ocean it was easy to see the fire that raged. Cannon balls whistled through the air, making Mizuira flinch every time one landed. Some of the other children (along with a few adults) were crying. Mizuira couldn't cry; she was too scared. She didn't understand what was happening, and no one—not even her parents—seemed to have any answers.

"Where's Robin?" Daddy asked desperately.

"Who gives a damn?" Momma spat under her breath in a way that made Mizuira believe she wasn't supposed to hear.

"The monster's not on the boat," someone said, sounding rather proud of himself. "We didn't let her on."

"What?!" Daddy exclaimed.

"Good riddance, I say," a third person muttered.

Mizuira turned away from the conversation, looking on with a sort of detached horror at what was happening to her home.

For some reason, she could only think about the doll she had been forced to leave behind.

"Look, a ship! Maybe someone there will actually _tell_ us something," a man shouted.

Momma peered out across the sea where the man was pointing. Mizuira huddled closer to her mother, resisting the urge to suck on her thumb like a baby. The smoke in the air made her eyes water, and the heat from the fires pulled her skin taunt. She wanted to go away so badly, she wanted to be tucked into her soft bed and have her parents sing a comforting song. She wanted the world to make sense again.

Suddenly Momma stiffened. "No…" she whispered in disbelief. "They wouldn't…Why are they aiming…Are they _crazy_?"

"Momma?" Mizuira had never heard her mother sound so frightened. But Momma only kneeled down—her eyes wide with an unknown terror—and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hush, Mizuira. Don't look; Momma's here."

Her mother was crying, Mizuira realized. Unsure of what to do, Mizuira tentatively returned the hug. People were beginning to shout now, although she couldn't make much sense out of what was being said. Again there was the whistle of cannon fire, this time coming from the ship that had just come into view.

"I love yo—"

The roar of an explosion drowned out the rest of the sentence. Panic overtook Mizuira as she was thrown across the deck, and pain jolted through her body as Momma landed on top of her.

Then there was blackness.

~x~

The room was cold and the walls were grey and it smelled of blood and pee. The bright light washed the room in a harsh, unforgiving glow.

Mizuira was afraid. Everything hurt, and she couldn't see Momma or Daddy anywhere. All she could remember was the ship and the explosion before everything had disappeared into confusion and nothingness. Now she was handcuffed to a bed and tubes were sticking out of her arms and there were wires on her chest and everything hurt and was scary and she wanted her mother.

She would have fought against her restraints, but her body was too heavy. Turning her head, Mizuira looked at the machine the wires hooked into that measured her heart beat. She had been in a hospital before; she knew machines like that should be beeping.

But the room was quiet. She couldn't even hear the sound of her own breathing.

~x~

' _Answer the question_!'

The man in the black suit pounded his fists against the table, and Mizuira's remaining self-control crumbled. She began to cry, burying her head in her bandaged hands, wishing that the doctors hadn't cut off all her hair so she could hide her face. She didn't understand; why did this man want to know about her stupid cousin?

"I-I d-don't know!" Mizuira wailed. Nothing made sense anymore. She couldn't hear, and seeing the man's angry movements without knowing what he was saying was terrifying. No one would explain to her what was going on. When she was in the hospital, she was chained to the bed and left for hours. When she was here, she was locked in a room and interrogated mercilessly.

The man struck her across the face, splitting her lip. Picking up his slate and chalk, he agitatedly wrote, ' _You already admitted your relationship to the Demon Child. Surely you know something. Now, answer the question_!'

"I swear, I d-don't know." Mizuira didn't even know what the man was trying to ask. The words on the slate were long, the concepts too complex for the nine year old to read, even if she had been given time to sound them out. It had to do with something with Robin, though. The man in black had shown her picture and pointed out the very large number that had to be a bounty. Robin had done something wrong.

The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. "I'm s-sorry! Robin all-always went w-with the lib-brarians. Momma didn't even li-like her!"

The man's stare made Mizuira whimper. Curling in on herself, she prayed for her nightmare to end.

~x~

"Admit it, the test was a failure. There's no reason to continue this farce of an experiment any longer. It has already told all that it knows about the Demon Child; there is no new data to be gathered. It's time to cut our loses and cull it before news reaches Vegapunk."

From her hospital bed, Mizuira began to shiver. She should be sleeping now, but that was impossible. Ever since the surgery on her ears everything was so _loud_ , much louder than it had ever been with her normal hearing. It was possible to make everything go quiet by taking off the magnetic piece that hooked up to her head, but Mizuira didn't dare. The one time she tried she had been severely punished, and as a result gone for an agonizingly long time without pain medication. With her arms not completely healed yet, that was something Mizuira never wanted to experience again.

"I can fix it! There has to be something…a flaw in the design or improper instillation. I just need more time!"

"Sir, I know that you are passionate about the experiment, but with the technology now it simply can't be done. The implants just can't filter sound like a natural ear. I can understand that you're frustrated, but give it a few more years and then Dr. Vegapu—"

"Don't give me that crap! We _all_ wanted to present a bionic ear with capabilities beyond the normal human limits to the Pacifica Project. Why should we let Vegapunk get all the glory?"

"Maybe because he can actually produce a product that is functional? Think! Take a step back and look at things practically. Yes, the experiment has gone from total deafness to possessing the hearing acuity beyond that of a canine, but stick it in a room full of people? Have it walk down a city street? Bah. The sensory input is overwhelming.

Stomach sinking, Mizuira realized that the scientists on the other side of the door were talking about her. She had somehow failed. Again. Bad enough she couldn't answer the men in black's questions, but now she wasn't even good enough to use her own ears properly. What the man said was true. If too many people were talking at the same time Mizuira couldn't understand what was being said. Biting the inside of her cheek she resisted the urge to cry. Crying was only slightly lower than disobedience on the list of things she got punished for.

"Fine! You win! I still don't see why we have to dispose of it entirely; it's the perfect specimen to practice other techniques on. Were you not complaining earlier today about the pittance of bodies we've been supplied with for limb replacements? Did you not want to test the newest models, the ones that allow for complete nerve reattachment?"

"Ordinarily I would agree with you. However you must consider the circumstances. Even though the lack of familial relations makes it an ideal candidate, it _is_ a criminal."

"So? We operate on pirates all the time."

"Sir, she's an _Oharan_ , related to the _Demon Child_. Now that we know the bionic ear doesn't work like it should, the thing needs to be executed, just like the rest. Who knows what sort of poison she's capable of spreading?"

"Exactly. There is enough data to support that the burn treatments were successful and that given time it would regain full function to the upper extremities. We should be satisfied with that. The government is pressing hard on this one. They want it dead. There's no medical justification to hold it off any longer."

"Yeah, you know things are serious when they're not even requesting we send her to Tequila Wolf or Saboady. Please, sir, just let this one go."

" _Fine_. Let it be on the record that I feel we're throwing away a perfectly good opportunity."

The voices faded and Mizuira could hear the footsteps of the three scientists as they walked away from her room. Panicking, Mizuira tugged fruitlessly against the cuffs that chained her to the hospital bed. She had outlived her usefulness and they were going to kill her for it. Pain shot up her arm as she pulled against her wounds. Mizuira could feel muscle split as she tore some of the sutures on her shoulder. Crimson blood started to trickle down onto the pristine white sheets.

Mizuira didn't care. She didn't want to die.

But the effort was useless. The handcuffs were tight against her wrists, and even if her arms weren't already hurt she was just a nine year old girl trying to fight against steel. And if she did somehow manage to free herself Mizuira had no idea how to leave the hospital or where to go after she did. The building she was in was like a maze, the hallways full of confusing turns and dead ends. Even though she was guided by someone who knew where they were going Mizuira _still_ got hopelessly lost every time she was led to her interrogations.

There was no escape.

Panting, Mizuira stopped fighting the chains that held her. The panic faded and was replaced with cold realization. A deep ache began to spread through her shoulder, and in the back of her mind Mizuira wondered how badly she had torn it.

As she looked down blankly at the metal cuffs that bit into her wrists, the sound of footsteps approaching caught her attention. Since the scientists had fixed her ears, things sounded different, almost mechanical. That made it hard sometimes to figure out what she was hearing, but Mizuira had learned the sound of footsteps almost immediately. Footsteps could mean food or pain relief was coming, or a doctor was going to change her soiled dressings, or that someone was here to ask more questions. Tonight they were the herald of death, each step bringing her closer to the end.

The door opened, and Mizuira looked up miserably at whoever had come in. Mizuira recognized Dr. Toppan immediately. He was the scientist who pushed her the hardest during her therapies and punished her the worst when she didn't meet his expectations. He held a syringe in one hand, and had she not overheard the conversation earlier she would have thought he was coming for her nightly medication.

"So you heard." He was looking at the bloody mess she had caused, and Mizuira couldn't suppress her whimper.

"Excellent."

With a smug grin he came nearer, pocketing the drug in his white lab coat. Then he dug around in his pants pocket and pulled out a small set of keys. Mizuira's eyes widened in recognition. They were the keys to her handcuffs, and with a breathy chuckle he freed her from the restraints.

"What are you doing?" Mizuira asked.

He smacked her on the back of her head. "Don't ask questions. You obviously know what the others want to do with you, are you really stupid enough to ruin your only chance?"

"N-no, sir."

"Then leave. Otherwise you're dead."

Hesitantly Mizuira got out of the bed. The tiled floors were cool against her feet, sending goose bumps through her body. The scientist was right. This was her only chance at life.

Eyes flickering to the man who released her, Mizuira took a cautious step. Then another and another, until she was nearly at the door. Unable to believe her good fortune, Mizuira was about ready to test her weak body and make a run for it, when a strange _click_ -ing noise sounded behind her.

Slowly she turned, and stared down the barrel of a gun. The scientist smiled, and shook his head sadly. "Tut-tut, shame on you. Experiments are not to be out of bed without express permission and supervision, and escape attempts are dealt with severely. Whatever shall I do?"

"Wh-what?" Mizuira felt the urge to run as far away as she could from the insane scientist and his weapon, but she couldn't. She was frozen in place, knowing there was no getting when he had a gun. "Why?"

"They want medical justification, I'll _give_ them medical justification!" Lowering his weapon, the scientist stalked closer, quickly closing the distance between them. "ESCAPE ATTEMPT IN ROOM 6, SUBJECT IS FREE FROM RESTRAINTS AND POSSIBLY DANGEROUS! ESCAPE IN ROOM 6!"

Mizuira clapped her hands against her head to try and block out the incredibly loud warning that was being bellowed so near her sensitive ears. The scientist turned her around and grabbed a fistful of short hair, pressing the barrel of his gun behind against her right knee. Her attempts to push away his arms did nothing. Pulling her head back, the scientist forced Mizuira to look at him. His grin widened as his eyes shone bright with passionate fever.

"Don't worry. I'll be through with my documentation. The paperwork will show that necessary force was used to apprehend an escaped subject, and that immediate surgery was required as a life-saving measure. The leg will be unsalvageable, of course, but that's okay. You're in the right place, in the very best of hands. My team will be the first to graft a fully functional bionic limb. Well, the first if you don't count Vegapunk, but who does?

"You're a perfect subject. No one's looking for you. No one cares if you live or die. No one will be complaining about _ethics_ or _standards._ We can concentrate on the _science_ without interruption. And this time, the experiment will be a success. I guarantee it."

A concussive _bang_ rang throughout the room. Pain tore through Mizuira's leg, and the scientist allowed her to crumple on the ground. She grabbed her knee, blood staining her fingers as it pooled underneath her. The rest of her surroundings faded away, leaving only terrible, excruciating agony.

A piercing scream tore from Mizuira's throat and filled the room. Security burst through the door, and people began arguing. The words were lost on Mizuira as she thankfully fell into unconsciousness.

~x~

A sharp, cramping pain shot up what was left of Mizuira's thigh and into her hip. She bolted to the edge of her bed, doubling over and clutching her leg. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit back a cry that would alert the scientists she was hurting. After a moment Mizuira tried to stretch out her cyberonic limb. It felt like pins and needles going down all the way to her toes, even though she knew she didn't _have_ toes. Tentatively Mizuira stood, testing carefully to make sure she could bear her own weight. It was like a knife twisting in her hip, but she still forced herself to take a few shuffling steps forward. If she didn't the cramps would only get worse.

It took five laps around the small, cell-like room (her quarters after being discharged from the hospital) before the pain began to ease. Wiping the sweat from her forehead with one heavily scarred hand, Mizuira leaned against the wall.

She spared one hateful glance down at the metal appendage. It started just above where her knee used to be, and for all intents and purposes worked just as well as her other leg. But where metal met flesh hurt and sometimes itched, and the stupid thing made her lose balance if she wasn't careful.

At least her hearing was more tolerable than before. After the scientists had decided to spare her life they had done a second surgery on her ears, making it so she only heard as much as a normal person. Noises coming from more than one direction were still a problem, but it wasn't so overwhelming anymore.

And she was alive. For that Mizuira supposed she should be grateful.

The door to her room burst open, and Mizuira flinched as Dr. Toppan entered with an unknown man in a black three-piece suit. She stood rigidly and waited. The men in black always asked questions about her cousin, and the doctor was constantly testing the limits of her leg.

"All I ask," Dr. Toppan began, "is that you take a moment to broaden your horizons. Look at it, it's perfect."

"Hardly. We've been looking things over, Doctor, and it seems that you have been overstepping your bounds."

Neither of the men looked at Mizuira. In fact, they hardly seemed to realize she was standing there.

"Anyway, your little experiment was successful. You've already gone too far; it's time to end this."

The doctor scowled. "It seems you have very little understanding of the scientific process. Yes, its leg is stable _now_. Yes, its hearing is sound _now_. But tomorrow? Next month? A year?" He shook his head. "This is a perfect opportunity. The thing is just a child, not even finished growing. The leg will need to be replaced several times, giving us the chance to test the effect of repeat procedures!"

"Vegapunk warned me you might say something like that. It won't work; the scar tissue at the grafting site makes repeated operations impossible."

"Not so, my government friend, not so! Dr. Vegapunk has far too many ideas running around in his head to test them all out himself. That's what _we're_ here for, and if we are to prove his ideas to be true we need to be able to run long-term experiments. This is…this is proof of concept."

"That doesn't change the fact that in this case a long-term experiment is a waste of resources."

"I'm not finished! Dr. Vegapunk, can't spend much time on any one project. That leaves the possibility that his ideas can be _improved upon_ , which in this case we have. You wouldn't understand the precise science behind it, but with the surgical technique this outfit has innovated repeated grafts won't be a problem."

Mizuira's gaze flickered to the man in black before settling back on Dr. Toppan. They wanted to do _more_ surgeries? She didn't know if she could take that, but if she protested they would kill her. The scientists and doctors had been perfectly clear: They were not healing her broken body out of the goodness of their hearts, but to test new ideas that could be used to help people who actually mattered. The results were evident all over her body, from her mechanical leg to her scarred arms to her artificial hearing. Some of the results were successful, others weren't, but they were all painful. It was her job to endure that pain so that others didn't have to.

"You have documentation proving this?" the man in black asked.

Dr. Toppan flapped his hand. " _Do I have documentation?_ Ha! What do you take me for, an idiot? Of course I have documentation. And if that's not enough, think about it like this: Before, bionic limbs were reserved for adults who had finished growing. With this leap, within the next twenty years we can give children functional arms and legs without worry! And," he reached over and grabbed Mizuira's arm, pulling her close to his side, "this will give us valuable data for the Pacifica Project. Isn't that what's most important?"

The man was silent for a long moment, looking Mizuira up and down critically in a way that made her want to squirm. "I need to talk to my superiors about this. She still has an association with the Demon Child that makes her dangerous."

"An open mind is all I ask. The experiment is young; with proper motivation it can be trained. Frankly, I think you people see threats where they don't exist. Think of all the children we can help in the future."

"Don't pretend you care about the damn children. I heard you reacted when the bionic ear didn't work out. You're in this for the glory." For the first time he looked down at Mizuira, and there was no mistaking the revulsion in his eyes. "And can't you people do something about those scars? They're disgusting."

Mizuira suddenly felt very exposed in her tank top and shorts. Hugging her arms, she wished she could disappear.

"Not really," Dr. Toppan looked down at Mizuira as if seeing her for the first time. "There's not much point in trying, either. The results would be purely cosmetic without adding function. Our time is better spent on other things."

"Whatever. I need to make a den-den mushi call. And do watch yourself, Doctor. You've been walking a fine line recently, and don't think the boys upstairs haven't noticed."

~x~

A year passed. The scientists celebrated this momentous occasion by putting her prosthetic leg through its most rigorous tests yet. They pushed Mizuira to the extremes of her physical endurance, and then pushed a little bit further just to be sure she couldn't go any more, until she collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

But it wasn't just her leg they were interested in. Mizuira supposed that every so often it was important to see how the rest of her was faring as well, but about the third hour into the testing process she realized today was _very_ different than usual.

There were dozens of exercises, including a written exam to test her problem solving ability, endurance tests that worked out her upper body as well as her leg, and at least seven different obstacle courses. As usual, no one had bothered to explain _why_ she had to do those things, and Mizuira knew better than to ask. She had been good, preforming each task to the best of her ability until she nearly passed out from fatigue and dehydration.

It was only then she was released back to her room. Mizuira flung herself onto her cot, and after few moments of blessed rest brought her fingers to the pulse in her neck. _La-dub, la-dub, la-dub_. The racing heart beat proved she had endured through another day.

As her mind drifted, Mizuira realized that if today was the one year anniversary for her artificial leg, then she must have turned ten years old at least a month ago, if not longer. The clawing anguish of bitter loneliness tore through her, hurting worse than any of her physical pains. She missed her parents so badly it threatened to overwhelm her.

Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths until the feeling faded. No one cared, and crying would upset the scientists. She wasn't a person, not any more, just a thing that was meant to be used and ultimately discarded.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Mizuira stood as quickly as she could. No one had ever knocked before, and she was unsure of what she was supposed to do. Should she answer it herself or invite them in?

Her aching muscles made that decision for her. Swaying unsteadily on her feet after the long day, Mizuira sat on the edge of her cot. "Come in," she grunted.

It was one of the men in black. Almost unconsciously, Mizuira flinched. She hadn't seen one of them in _months_ , not since she had finally convinced them she had no useful information on her cousin.

The man gave a quick glance around the room before settling his piercing gaze on her. "Good evening."

Mizuira was dumbfounded. He was being _nice_. Or at least polite. "Good evening," she replied after a too-long pause.

"That was a good showing you put on today." The man had been watching her earlier? Why? Mizuira's hands began to tremble, but if the man noticed he didn't show it. "You are very interesting. A conundrum."

Being a conundrum sounded bad. "Sir?"

"Yes, a conundrum. A puzzle. What to do with the little experiment, that is indeed the million belli question." Mizuira's mouth went dry and the shakes worsened. "Answer me this, what is your opinion on the Demon Child?"

"I-I don't even know what Robin did wrong," Mizuira admitted. "People keep asking questions and saying being related to her is a sin, but I don't know why."

His eyebrows raised by a fraction of an inch. "Oh? That's simple enough. The Demon Child, along with the rest of the dead archeologists, sought to destroy the world."

Mizuira stared at him. "The…the _whole world_? Robin wanted to destroy the _whole world_?!"

"Yes. That is why we must take the utmost care when dealing with this case. It's impossible to know how much you've been corrupted."

"But I'm not an archeologist," Mizuira said numbly. "Neither were my parents. They didn't even like going to the library."

"The vice admiral who attacked the refugee ship only did so after receiving word that one of the archeologists had snuck aboard. That would have been impossible without outside help," the man in black said. "We could take no chances, and your family _did_ house the Demon Child for several years."

It made perfect, twisted sense. The World Government was good. It kept people safe from pirates and other bad people. And Robin…Robin was always doing bad things. Of course it would be Robin's fault. Everything was always Robin's fault. Robin the freeloader. Robin the creep. Robin the monster. Robin the demon.

It was Robin's fault that her parents were dead. It was Robin's fault her arms were burned. It was Robin's fault she was in prison. It was Robin's fault she was deaf. It was Robin's fault one of her legs was made of metal. It was Robin's fault she was constantly in pain. It was Robin's fault she could never go home again.

At that moment Mizuira hated Nico Robin.

"I'll kill her," Mizuira said, the gaping loneliness replaced with a seething desire to see her only remaining family dead. "It…she… _She_ did this!"

The answer seemed to please the man, and he kneeled down and clasped one hand on her shoulder, looking her right in the eye. "Not like this you can't. You're too weak." Mizuira's head jerked up defiantly. "Tell me I'm wrong. You know the demon's power better than anyone."

It was true. Robin possessed a Devil Fruit that made attacking people from a distance easy, just as she had done to Thomas Scott a lifetime ago. With Robin's power, the loss of a leg would be nothing. She could just grow a new one.

"Teach me," Mizuira begged. "Teach me to be strong."

He smiled. It made him look like a wolf about ready to devour its prey. "Very well. I can't do it here; you'll have to come with me."

"The scientists…"

"Don't worry; they already know. This is simply a continuation of the experiment."

Mizuira's brow furrowed in confusion, but she didn't allow herself to think about the words. This man was giving her a chance to be something more than the pathetic, powerless thing she was now. The burning hatred she felt towards her cousin was already better than the self-loathing and lonlieness she had experienced in the last year. Mizuira had a goal, something to work towards. A purpose.

Mizuira wouldn't rest until Robin was dead.

"So you'll come with me?" he asked.

Ignoring her protesting muscles, Mizuira rose to her feet. "Yes, sir."

* * *

 **AN** : Technically Mizuira isn't an OC, but she literally appears in one panel of the manga and I'm pretty sure she's cut out of the anime entirely. I've wanted to do a story with her for more than four years now, and this chapter has been sitting collecting dust for nearly that long. I doubt if I'll ever get around to telling her story in full, so I figured I'd share this much.

Physical Description: For thematic reasons, I designed Mizuira to be the opposite of Nico Robin in almost every way. She's short, stocky, with light red hair cropped just below the jaw and stormy grey-blue eyes. She muscular to Robin's slender, strength to her grace. She's constantly scowling, slouches, and just looks _angry_ all of the time. Her upper extremities are covered with burn scars and her right leg has been fitted with a prosthetic - although in later years artificial skin was added to make it look more natural. She received a few other injuries on her torso that scarred, but nothing disfiguring. When she chooses to wear them, Mizuira's bionic ears wrap around the outside of the pinna and attach to the skull via powerful magnet (think cochlear implant).

Personality: Again, think Robin's opposite. She's mean, foul-mouthed, and has a terrible temper. Mizuira suffered from the same loneliness and feelings of abandonment then Robin does, but she expresses it by wanting to fight everyone. The only thing that keeps her grounded at all is her desire to kill her cousin - admittedly not very conductive to a well-balanced state of mind.

Hobbies: The only thing that we see Robin suck at in canon is drawing, so of course that would be the one area where Mizuira excels. When not in the gym, she's often by herself with paper and pencil

Affiliations: Ohara, Nico Robin (if only by association), Pacifica Project. Early story ideas included an AU where she was a part of CP9, but if I do write a story with her in the future that's probably not the direction I'd go

Devil Fruit/Fighting Style: No Devil Fruit, but the WG trained Mizuira to be a skilled martial artist. She's ruthless and aggressive, often sacrificing defense and her own well-being to land a hit - especially if her opponent manages to cheese her off

Strengths: It's difficult to write about what Mizuira's strengths are because the events of Ohara and her subsequent time in WG custody have warped her into an easily manipulated ball of rage. It is worth mentioning that she has an incredibly high tolerance for pain, and despite her incredibly warped sense of justice tries to do the right thing. It's just that she's been told she's a demon for so long that she actually believes it.

When not goaded into being stupid, however, Mizuira is a competent and physical fighter, and after discovering how much she enjoys drawing has gotten quite good using a variety of mediums

Weaknesses: I think more than anything, Mizuira is her mother's daughter, with all that entails. In addition to the aforementioned anger management issues, I wanted to explore the family dynamic within the Nico household, which is something I think is fascinating and I could write about all day. For the first nine years of her life, Mizuira saw and learned from Roji's hatred, bitterness, and abuse of her cousin, which in turn plays a huge role in developing her world view.

Mizuira's bionic ears also don't differentiate sounds very well and don't pick up voice inflection at all, which I tried to convey by not using dialogue tags. She's a competent lip reader, but that has its own limitations.

In another contrast to Robin, Mizuira dislikes and has a difficult time reading. I'd imagine being a prisoner of the World Government doesn't do much good for your education, and her hearing loss makes things that much more difficult (recent studies show that in the United States, on average a deaf student will graduate high school at a fourth grade reading level).

To Appear in: _Blood and Water_

Inspiration: Mizuira's bionic ear is based off of, but not exactly the same as, cochlear implants (fun fact: bionic ear is actually an alternate term for cochlear implant). To my knowledge, today's science has not been able to accurately recreate he ear's natural ability to filter noise. Think about when you go to a restaurant, there can be dozens of people talking, yet it's possible to focus on the person sitting across the table. This problem obviously isn't present the case in the current manga storyline as Kuma and presumably Franky have no hearing problems, but since Ohara happened twenty years in the past it's reasonable to believe that there have been considerable technological advances since then, especially with Vegapunk going mad science-y things. Think of Mizuira's implant as a flawed prototype that was later fixed for the Pacifica Project.

For those who find such things interesting, look up "hearing, but not as you know it" by SJC tv and "hearing cochlear implants" by asuresearch on youtube. All the videos of babies hearing sound for the first time are also adorable and worth checking out.

Mizuira herself has gone through quite the developmental process over the years and is heavily connected to another OC of mine named Joan Nightingale. To make a long story short, Mizuira used to be the antagonist for the story I now have planned for Joan, and if you read the Short and Lamentable Career of Joan Nightingale you'll see the sort of personality Mizuira once sported. Once I wrote out her backstory in full, however, Mizuira tapped into her inner Kratos and became unsuited for that story. Now the only thing they share are a mutual loathing for Robin and an injured leg.


End file.
